


Good Love

by HighCaptain



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love Hurts, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Sorry Not Sorry, Vague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighCaptain/pseuds/HighCaptain
Summary: Damian needs...time, away from everything. He feels like he's stagnated, stuck as progress is there beyond his grasp.But, he's with Marinette. Marinette is there, and suddenly he can't see their future anymore. Not the one she deserves, at least. He has to make a choice. For both their sakes.Or else he might come to regret it. He'll end up regretting anyway, either path he chooses. So he chooses her.He chooses her life over his own.
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Comments: 62
Kudos: 74





	1. I Can't Hurt Her

**Author's Note:**

> *holds out mug*  
> it's ok, i can wait

Damian Wayne knew two things that morning.

  1. He was sore. 
  2. Marinette took another one of his firsts.



His body was heavy, his eyes itched, his back hurt and his arms felt like lead. Everything without a doubt indicated his form bearing a dull pain. It was his own fault, though.

He didn’t want to break up with her. Marinette was one of the few good people he knew he could keep close without the threat of being stabbed in the back, both figuratively and literally. She was someone he could lean on wholeheartedly, through choking tears and bright, breathless laughter. Marinette loved to laugh, especially with him, it seemed.

All of that was the problem, surprisingly.

Looking back, it was never a problem, more of a false dilemma that wouldn’t leave him alone, whispering from the corners of his mind whenever things felt too good to be true.

_ You don’t deserve this. _

_ What made you think you could be happy like this? _

_ How dare you, after all you’ve done! _

It was only a matter of time until he ruined her. So he made a choice. He ended it, rather mundanely too, considering the life he led.

So, while every fiber of his being was protesting, he headed home to Marinette, for the last time.

When he got to the apartment, his mood was somber. This was going to be rather sudden, an actual spur of the moment decision after all. Marinette would be devastated. His girlfriend was in the kitchen, pushing chopped vegetables into a pot next to the stove. She’d been excited to make soup for them tonight for the past two days. He was going to ruin that. 

Better now than later, he’d felt.

_ “Marinette, we need to have a discussion.” She looked up from the counter as she stopped mixing the batter, and he gazed at her softly. He wouldn’t be able to do things like this with her anymore. Not ever. _

_ “Yes, cheri? Oh, you don’t look so good,” she swiftly wiped her hands on the embroidered towel he bought for the apartment when they first moved in together and raised a hand to check the temperature of his neck and forehead. He slowly pulled away and she frowned. _

_ “You don’t have a fever, is it something else, maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.” _

_ “It’s not an illness, Marinette,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the loveseat they argued over getting. She wanted a love seat, while he would rather have a small armchair. He admitted grudging defeat when he saw that it fit the decor more while allowing more intimate room for cuddling. He tried to stop thinking about the sudden memories, but they were everywhere. The furniture, the charcoal drawings on the wall, the throw blanket on the couch, the tapestry next to the balcony window, all of it. _

_ Once, before he’d come to this decision, these things filled his chest with warmth, soft and gentle happiness that he was growing more addicted to by the day. Now he didn’t want to look, not anymore, not ever. _

_ “Marinette, I’m,” Damian choked, peering earnestly into her eyes. Under the fluorescent lighting, they pulled him in with their sweet and understanding look. He could say anything else. He could tell her that he used to be an assassin, that he used to be Robin, that he was going to become Batman, anything but this and she would never have to know that he had almost ended their relationship. He could marry her, instead of going through with this, but... _

_ Not anymore, not ever. _

_ She silently patted his hand, and he grabbed it, hating himself as he steeled his nerves. _

_ “I’m,” he breathed. “I’m, my therapy is doing well. Going well, I meant to say, that is, I’ve--” The speech he prepared was all but useless, a mere guideline. Marinette gazed at him with patience. _

_ “I’ve come to understand myself a bit more, and I decided that I needed to do some things,” he lamely stated. _

_ “I need to go back home, to do that. Back to Gotham, my family, but I’m,” Here it was. Fuck. _

_ “I’m not taking you with me, Marinette.” _

_ Silence, then: “I understand, Damian. Whatever you need, I’ll support you, okay? I love you, so much.” She moved to hug him, but he painfully leaned away from her touch, letting go of her hand in the process. He would never be able to hold her again, not ever. _

No, you don’t understand _ , he thought,  _ and hopefully, you never will. 

_ “Marinette, I’m breaking up with you,” he swallowed harshly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow myself to use you as I have anymore.” _

_ “...What, use me? Damian, you aren’t making sense,” she reached for him again, but he scooted away to the other end of the loveseat. _

_ “I had realized that, some time ago, I began to use you as a crutch. You constantly support me, love me, and listen to me, to a fault, in fact,” he looked somberly at the floor before meeting her gaze again. _

_ “I started to treat you like you were my therapist, not my girlfriend. I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m so, so sorry.” _

_ She laughed wetly. “It’s fine, Damian, cheri, I promise it’s fine. As long as we know about it and address it together, then we can fix this, together. I promise, so, please…” She started to choke back tears. _

_ He shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Ha-- Marinette.” _

_ “Well, what do I get to say in all this?!” She snapped. “I don’t want to break up with you, at all Damian Wayne, I,” she blinked hard.  _

_ “Damian, I want to be with you, for a long, long time. I want...” She stopped trying to get the words out and started trying not to cry instead. She seemed to be resigning herself. Good, he thought as his chest twinged. This is for the best. _

Once more, you’ve proven yourself a monster.

Even she, whom you claim to love, gets hurt in the end.

You really are a bastard.

_ “I’m sorry. I,” I _ never wanted to hurt you. It’s better this way, I promise. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you, Habibti, Rabia. Ya Amar. 

_ "Au Revoir, Marinette.” _

It had gone as smoothly as a breakup could, in the end. He dreamed of turning back countless times, made himself sick from it even, as though his body knew that he couldn’t live without her.

Damian began to move his things out the next day, to be directly shipped back to the manor. He’d already sent the message to Alfred, though his reply gave the impression that he would have a lot of explaining to do. She was his first crush, his first girlfriend, and now his first ex. 

The hardest part, unsurprisingly, was avoiding Marinette.

She was the only person he knew in New York, besides his therapist and his coworkers at a finance firm, but the part that made it impossible to avoid her was that she was a self-employed businesswoman. Quite successful in fact, successful enough to pull vacation days on his ass as she got a second wind to persuade him back into her arms. 

That night, he’d slept on the couch, but he could hear her muffled crying, so he slept in his car for the rest of the week. During that time, she tried talking to him again, wanting an explanation. He gave her the same thing in different words each time, so she started to change her approach.

She came at him softly, gently, and lovingly, every time. They talked, they discussed. He would say the same things again, and she would come up with a new reason for him to stay. He would waver, and she would hold him as though he could shatter at any moment. Then he would get mad and she would get mad, and they would start to argue and argue and argue, all while he packed his belongings, and she pleaded behind him like she was doing everything to keep him from leaving. 

He wanted to turn back so many times, fall into her embrace like nothing ever happened. He wanted to be with her, be in love with her, and her to be in love with him. He wanted that for the rest of forever and far beyond that.

_ You’re undeserving of her love. _

_ You don’t have emotions, you never have. _

_ You can’t be like other people, not ever. _

“Not ever,” he whispered.

He stood in the doorway, looking out into the hall. Marinette was behind him, leaning against the door.

“So, I really can’t change your mind?” He turned around. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, a defeatist smile on her lips.

He shook his head.

Marinette gazed up at him, and he was struck by the sudden fact that this was it. He would never see her again after this day, for the rest of his life. He burned her image into memory, the way her long skirt fell as she stepped up to him, the slight sound of her rustling turtleneck sweater, her scent lightly wafting around them as her hair fell from her shoulder, all as she moved towards him. For the last time.

_ I love you,  _ his heart pleaded him to say _ , I was wrong, Rabia, I’m still in love with you! Please, take me back. I’ll never be so foolish again. _

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“I know,” her lips pulled into something kinder, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to smile. Her arms made an aborted motion to hug him and he appreciated her restraint. He had to leave before he crumpled.

“Damian,” she called as he was halfway down the hall. He stopped but didn’t turn back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he heard her shuffle. Silence, then:

“And, I am so very proud of you, Damian. Thank you, for loving me. Thank you for allowing me to love you as long as you did. I’ll always cherish our time together.” This was…

"J't'aime et au revoir, Damian. Toujours, j’t’aime.” He whirled around as the door clicked shut.

Marinette had given him her blessings, as well as bid him farewell. It’s truly over.

He swallowed, and headed down the elevator, walked to the parking garage, unlocked his car. He sat in the passenger seat, unthinking, before closing the door and sliding behind the wheel. At some point, he started driving, but halfway through he realized that he wasn’t on the way home to Gotham. He pulled over in the middle of nowhere and cut the engine. Nothing and no one was around. He started to feel a little lonely and heartbroken. He didn’t want this, not all.

_ He wanted Marinette _ . Damian tightly gripped the wheel, knuckles pale.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed to himself. “Don’t even think about it. Just, go home.”

Home was in an apartment in uptown New York. Home was where Marinette was. 

**No!** His vision went red.

He grabbed the penknife from under the dash and he viciously stabbed himself in the leg, over and over again, shouting and shrieking in accordance with his true nature.

“You’re going back to the manor! Habibti doesn’t deserve someone broken like you! She doesn’t need you, any of your problems, any of your burdens, any of your so-called love!” He stopped, breathing frenzied.

“She needs someone human. That someone is not you,  _ Tafrukh Shaytan _ .” He slumped, panting.

It would never be him. Not anymore. Not ever.


	2. Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outside perspective of Damian's journey, as well as a slight look into his and Marinette's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you love trying to write angsty fics and there are screams of joyful children running around you, constantly?
> 
> haha, yeah, me neither!

That day, it was one of the rare, bright mornings in Gotham, where the sky was overcast but the sun managed to shine through, sending dappled sunlight into the eastern wing of Wayne Manor. Alfred Pennyworth had been up before sunrise as he had been for decades, carrying out his more mundane tasks in service to the Waynes, though it would have been preferred that they learned to rely on him for other things. 

Normally he wouldn’t complain quite so much, the stress from it was cumbersome in his old age, but the situation had been truly aggravating this past month.

The youngest master of the house had begun acting...strange. Strange in a way that genuinely worried both himself and Bruce. Damian was by no means the best at communication, but he did at least check in from time to time, and they saw him for when they needed extra hands on deck for their ‘night shift’ as they’d begun to call it. 

He didn’t contact anyone for an entire week, dropping off radar, and the only reason anyone knew was that Dr. Norfey had left a message with his emergency contacts, asking him to set up a date to reschedule his bi-monthly appointments. 

Everyone called Damian in a rush, and he said he was fine, but it was strange because Damian never did anything without a reason, ever. He was literally raised to make carefully planned decisions, and that idea was only reinforced under their care. They’d had to find out because he missed his therapy session as if he didn’t worry Alfred enough.

For the past three years, he had been in the care of a reputable therapist, competent, and more importantly, safe for Damian. They specialized in mentally and emotionally abused patients and unearthing childhood trauma. The success rate of Dr. Norfey was slightly above average, as most patients either leave positive reviews or receive recommendations for more intensive help. After arguing for days on end with the entire family, he finally relented and scheduled a two-hour session. After that, he went about his routine as usual.

Nothing extreme had happened, thank God, but there did seem to be a positive response. He met with Dr. Norfey again after two weeks, glaring at anyone who would look too long, daring them to speak up. It wasn’t long before it became the new normal. The young master gradually lost his scowl for something gentler, appearing relaxed when home, though he went back to it as soon as he left the premises. Certainly, he had his good days and his bad days, but he seemed all the more certain of himself as an individual. Truly, he didn’t think Damian could make him anymore proud.

Then, he met a young lady.

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a petite young woman with kind eyes and a bright smile set upon a youthful face. She was polite, witty, with no small amount of talent and charm, and an endless amount of patience for Alfred’s brood. She was a breath of fresh air, especially for the suffocated Damian.

An investigation into her profile revealed that she was a rising star of the cutthroat fashion realm, her resume boasting high-profile clientele and lucrative business contracts. She hadn’t had anything notorious to her name, no criminal record, no illegal transactions, almost normal to the point of suspicion. After a while though, they managed to dig up something insidious.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had connections to a terrorist. 

Six years prior, a supervillain appeared in Paris for the first time, holding the city, it’s citizens, and tourists hostage for what would be the better part of three years. During that period, Ms. Dupain-Cheng would then begin to date Adrien Agreste, and then break up with him a year later. She and her entire family disappeared soon after. A month later, Hawkmoth was arrested, along with his accomplice Mayura, and seventeen years old son, Adrien Agreste. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what happened.

Looking at the classified investigation reports uncovered more of the truth, that Gabriel had the idea to use the miraculous to revive his wife. He planned to sacrifice his son’s girlfriend, a girl his wife would never know about by using Adrien to make the wish. In the end, he never even got his hands on the miraculous. Marinette had started to become uncomfortable with Gabriel’s strange questions and talked to Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

When she told them of what types of questions she was asked, they grew concerned and sent her and her family to a safe house outside of Paris. From there, with police assistance, evidence was gathered and a warrant was issued. Gabriel was confident until Supergirl arrived, using her x-ray vision on the property and revealing the hidden lair beneath the building. He was quickly apprehended without fuss, and it was case closed. Adrien had been arrested as well, but he was quickly acquitted when evidence showed that he wasn’t involved in any way.

After that was the media firestorm, and the Dupain-Chengs weren’t spared. However, Ms. Dupain-Cheng was skilled as she showed her hand, and it was a revolution. Out from the woodwork poured celebrity after celebrity, vouching for her and her family. 

She managed to turn her pariah status into that of a martyr in the eyes of the public because that was the bible-sworn truth. She’d rose to the occasion and exceeded all expectations. After that, she faded from the media for two years before returning as a critically acclaimed designer. The Bats gave her a grace period and soon they too began to gradually lower their guard.

And young master Damian appeared to be quite smitten as he decided to open his heart as well. 

He watched his young master attempt to curry favor with the young lady, awkwardly wooing her to their family’s amusement. He saw her cautiously reciprocate, and he saw their tentative courtship, budding and fragile, blossom into something beautiful and delicate. He saw them weather the tough days and work hard for their relationship. He saw Damian start to let himself be happy without restraint. Soon a year had passed, then two, and then three. In the fourth year, master Bruce started to hint to Alfred to update the family registry, as joyful as he was.

So when he was sent word that Damian’s belongings would be shipped home, he hoped that Ms. Marinette would be there with him. Perhaps misfortune had come to their apartment and most of the young lady’s things had to be sent to storage, but it wasn’t meant to be. The message he sent left no room for misunderstandings.

_I’m sending my things back to the manor. I’ll be home by the end of the week._

The young master shall be returning alone, then.

Alfred had long since received the delivery and moved everything back to its original place, save for items that were acquired after he’d moved out. Now the day had come for Damian to arrive home. The moment was both exactly and not at all what he’d expected.

On an unusually sunny morning, about an hour before noon, the one and only Alfred Pennyworth opened the doors to the sight of the youngest master, Damian.

His appearance was neat, shoulders back, and posture straight as a rod. There was not a hair out of place. However, his eyes…

It had been a while since he’s seen his eyes look so strained, it was clear that he had not slept well. This was when he knew that Ms. Marinette would not be returning for a visit for some time

“Welcome back, Master Damian,” he said.

“Hello, Alfred.” A rigid nod. “I have returned.”

“So it appears,” he opened the doors and waved Damian in. “I have your favorite pot of tea on. Would you care for a cup in the dining room or the parlor?”

“Neither. I’ll have some, but I’d like to rest for a while.” Damian stepped gingerly through the door, as though he was indeed tired. Normally, he wouldn’t let such an obvious wound slide, but he knew better to pressure a man trapped in a corner.

“Very well, young master,” Alfred shut the door and turned to accompany Damian through the main hall, a step behind.

“You’ll find your belongings in your old bedroom with the facilities fully stocked, as per usual. Please be sure to take care of your wound and to reschedule your session with Dr. Norfey before tomorrow.”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred.” A pause. Damian had never been one for conversation, but he would usually ask what was going on in the manor without wasting time.

“As your father will be out late at the office along with your brothers, dinner will be held an hour earlier to accommodate their sudden absence.”

A noncommittal hum came from the young man in front of him and Alfred nearly furrowed his brow in worry.

All too soon they arrived and Damian turned back to the Wayne family butler, stoic.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he nodded slightly. “I’ll be out for dinner, but I am feeling a bit hungry after my drive. “

“Say no more,” Alfred gave him a placid smile. “I’ve already set out the tea and snacks on your desk. I shall return for the platter after you have finished.”

Damian finally let loose a tiny smirk. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, sir.” A courteous bow was the last Damian saw of the butler as he entered and closed the door to his room.

Alfred walked back towards the kitchen to check on his pot roast, feeling relieved. Damian wasn’t at his best, that much was evident, but that didn’t mean he was at his worst. At least not yet. However, there was still hope, because while it seemed like he had regressed in his current state, his tired eyes said that he had some sort of revelation.

Alfred began to prepare Damian’s portion, wondering what could have happened between the two for him to return alone, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else? The list of options was short but severe. He could have told her any number of secrets about his past, family history, current vigilante occupation, and while he had faith in Ms. Marinette, the young woman was by no means a saint. 

It could have also been that she broke up with Damian, and it might be his extreme bias, but he couldn’t fathom why. Yes, this was Damian they were talking about, but he’d been in therapy for close to eight years now and was making steady progress as he continued to root out his trauma and slowly but surely heal. However, he did not know how their relationship was faring, as both proved to be rather private. Though, the young miss was more shy than possessive.

Damian had over ten years of trauma, all throughout his early childhood, and suddenly he was becoming an adult. A confused, depressed, and unstable child had become trapped in the body and mind of an adult, and while everyone helped to the best they could, all while trying to help themselves, it wasn’t enough. It never would be, not for this battle.

Alfred sighed, feeling his years. He pulled dinner out to rest and started to set the table, just in time for the proximity sensors to notify him of Bruce’s car pulling into the estate. Right on schedule.

“Welcome home Masters Bruce, Timothy, and Duke. If you would, hurry and wash before dinner. It’s been quite the long day, has it not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yeah, get ready to feel bad next chapter. maybe. ok, definitely. 
> 
> ...
> 
> i'm not apologizing.

**Author's Note:**

> *holds out mug a little further*  
> don't be shy, you know the drill. gimme them tears, beau.


End file.
